His Darling Assistant

Part 4: Famous Last Words

Jonathan Crane hadn't failed to walk you home every night since you reunited with Joseph, and you were milking it for all it was worth. You knew very well that it had been long enough since that night where you could feel safe enough to get home yourself, as the only harassment you received was from the occasional stranger who would whistle or yell out to you, but you also knew that if he didn't walk with you, he'd be spending his nights hunched over files in his office getting two hours of crappy sleep. Really, it was for his own good that you hadn't stopped him yet. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that you really enjoyed his company on the walk home.

It had become routine for the two of you; after packing up the files of the night, you'd leave the asylum to the security guards and walk the three blocks to your house. He'd always walk you to the front steps and make sure you were safe before walking back to his car and going home himself, leaving you to wish he'd just come in one of these times.

Finally, after a few weeks of this, the occasion you were waiting for arrived; you had finally finished reorganizing the archives of Arkham Asylum. You and the doctor had celebrated this with a drink from the bottle of whiskey he kept in his desk for occasions like these, but you thought this called for something more.

"Come in today, Jonathan," you told him, looking down at him from your front porch.

"I'll have to let you down again," he told you, like he had done so many times already, but this time was different.

"Come on, Doctor. We got through that entire damned room, I want to celebrate! Besides, it's a Friday. What could go wrong?"

"Famous last words, darling," he said, but he was smiling coyly.

"I've got a great collection of horror movies and a Cabernet waiting to be opened," you replied, "And if you feel the need to spend the night, there is a guest bed in my office."

"Mmm, that is tempting. I suppose one Friday night couldn't hurt." He gave in to your offers easily this time as you knew he might. He was in a good mood, and that could not go unnoticed.

As you let him into your house, kicking the shoes you had left astray from past nights into a little pile under your bench, you wished you had tidied up the house a little more that morning. You shooed him past the kitchen and into your living room, taking his coat and briefcase and leaving them nicely in the foyer. Jonathan, amused by your attempted distractions from the mess of dishes in the kitchen, didn't say a word, and sat politely on the couch while you ran back to your pantry to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan, I'm not usually this messy," you told him as you sat beside him and poured the wine.

"Not to worry, you should see my room on a good day." You chuckled at him and handed him a glass, keenly aware of every bit of your fingers that grazed his as he took it. Just because he came into my house and drank wine with me doesn't mean we're in love, you told yourself, remembering your promise while watching him sip his wine. But even then, you couldn't help but get lost in those damned eyes of his.

Shaking yourself out of your trance, you smiled at him, raised your glass, and said, "Congratulations, Dr. Crane, on the completion of your quest against the Arkham archives," in an official-sounding voice. He laughed and tapped his glass against yours and you realized you had never heard him truly laugh before. Sure, he'd let out a small chuckle here and there, but this was a fully-fledged, joyous laugh, and you cherished the sound.

After a while, you broke out your collection of horror movie CDs and made him choose from the pile. He took his time, picking up and inspecting the case of each disc, before settling on the most weathered one.

"That's my favorite," you said, secretly hoping he'd choose it, even though you had probably seen it more times than you could count.

"I could tell," he said looking pointedly at the wear-and-tear of the case, "that's why I chose it." It was this sentiment alone that had your stomach doing backflips as you inserted the disc into your player and let the movie run.

As the opening credits rolled, you found yourself staring at Dr. Crane. You heard the familiar score of the movie as you considered his gaze, carefully concentrating on the screen in front of him. You took another sip of wine as you wished, just for one night, that you weren't his employee and that you might have the courage to reach out and brush his messy hair out of his eyes, bringing your lips to his. You could practically feel his hands wrapping themselves around your waist as you slipped his glasses off and-

"Do I have something on my face?"

You felt your face flush as you shook your head and started to turn back to the movie, but his hand found the side of your face and suddenly he was kissing you gently, hands in your hair. You felt your heart in your throat as he pulled away to look into your eyes.

"Oh," you said for some reason, and then you pulled him in and eagerly kissed him back. Your mind went blissfully blank, and you could think of nothing but his hands, which were roaming over your waist and hips, careful to avoid overstepping their boundaries, although you couldn't help but wish that he would stop being so gentlemanly for just this moment.

Of course, he did the complete opposite, and gently pushed you away.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he looked like he meant it, "I shouldn't have done that. We shouldn't be-"

"Right," you said, disappointed, "I'm sorry, too."

He offered you a small smile, and you turned back to your favorite film. You could still hear your heart beating loudly, but you masked your dismay with a sheepish grin that mirrored his, torn between regret and relief that he had pulled away.